Memory Substitution
61If you're at that certain age where you're racking the grey matter to remember what breakfast you had this morning, but CAN remember intricate details from years gone by....welcome aboard!
This strange phenomenon is a common occurance with increasing age. Initially, it can be quite an alarming experience, but as you become accustomed to it, it becomes somewhat of an adventure. Yes, and even nostalgic!
Personally, my earliest childhood memory is of a dark, mahogany walled, large L-shaped ground floor flat in an equally large corner house of red sandstone, in the Plymouth suburbs, off Mutley Plain. My maternal Grandmother lodged with us at the time. The live-in landlady, Mrs Collier, resided in the upstairs quarters. The walls of her flat, I recall, were stained yellow. She smoked like there was no tomorrow! She was somewhat well off, and dressed in black a lot. The house was on a corner site, on a hill that lead down towards the railway line. I seem to remember a veritable army of cleaning ladies who appeared weekly!
Half way down the hill, on the opposite side of the road, was a small cobbled lane, along which was a tiny corner shop. Mum and I often went there for groceries. Her main weekly shop was at the Co-op on Mutley Plain. I can even remember her "divi number": 1423! I can also recall warbling "The Ballad of Davy Crockett" to all and sundry whilst firmly harnessed into my buggy! Child prodigy? Hardly!
In the days when milk was sold in glass pint bottles and delivered in crates, I do remember fondly my two uncles - George and Will. George drove a green Morris Oxford, smoked Players cigarettes and used to deliver milk most days. He was a giant of a man (at least to a two year old he was!), who could carry, one handed, a crate of 16 glass pint bottles and not break sweat! On other occaisions my Uncle Will took over. He drove a green and black Bedford van, the front doors of which slid open.
There was a girl who lived directly across the road from us. Julie Nelson was her name, and her father (a vacuum cleaner salesman) drove a bright yellow Vauxhall Victor. Julie and I were occaisional playmates on and off, until her family upped sticks and moved away somewhere else!
My mum and dad had a tabby cat called Jimpy (after a newspaper cartoon character). He was very tolerant of me, as a rebellious pre-schooler. I frequently used to pick up the cushion he was lying on and push it out of my way. One day, I overstepped the boundaries and he lashed out, just catching my finger with his extended claw. Not a deep wound, or a malicious act, but just enough to warn me off. This time! In much later years when he went off to the vet and didn't return, I was told he'd had mouth cancer. He was a beautiful colour, and very affectionate.
My main childhood hero (don't laugh!) was Russ Conway. I watched his shows every week on our little black and white TV. Even had photographs of him as well. I have never really been able to work out the reason he was my hero. The music? His personality? The whole showbiz thing itself? The fact my Gran liked him too? I never had a clear answer. Mum bought me a tiny wooden grand piano and stool. She painted it black and painstakingly marked in the keyboard. It was my prize possession for quite a number of years.
My first school (after nursery) was Lambs Park in Manamead. I attended on half-day mornings. My teacher was Mrs. Young and my classmates I can still "see" vividly! The school was headed up by Mr Gulliver and he drove a dark grey mini bus with red lettering on the side. The school itself was based in a large house, which is still there today. It had a vintage Rolls Royce permenantly parked in the garage off the playground. We kids never found out who owned it though!
My afternoons Monday-Friday, were spent out at my paternal Grandparents house in Crownhill. Here I was spoiled rotten and stuffed with SO MUCH food. One summer, they had some French students staying with them. One of them, Gerard, made a bi-plane out of some kit or other and gave it to me! It was to be for his brother, but I guess I must've been the more favoured one! Needless to say, it didn't last very long in my young hands.
My Grandfather drove a black Singer, and I recall he used to drive me home at days end, waving out of the drivers window as he left. My late father was, at the time, studying his way up the accademic ladder, and had just gained his Phd. Mum told me to hide behind one of the chairs and jump out when he came home shouting "congratulations, Dr Boney!" His face was a picture of pure delight. I still have the coloured photograph of him in his Phd robes. Now THAT is one of my prized possessions.
Do you remember your very first telly? I can. Vividly! I was woken from my early evening slumbers (well, I was only 4 at the time!) and taken into the sitting room. There in the corner was our first ever black & white TV! The programme being shown? "Hancock's Half Hour".
As this flat was rented, mum and dad eventually bought their first house in Plympton. Merrifield Close was the development's name and it was a small crescent shaped cul-de-sac. They bought the house on a mortgage for around £3000! (How things change!). Here I was to attend Plympton St Mary's primary school, which we used to walk to. It was (and still is) at the bottom of a hill, right smack next to a cattle market! The headmaster was called Mr Footer and his home was in the school grounds. He was an extremely nice, genteel man. I seem to recall his daughter, Bridget, attended the school as well. This was where I started to get used to the idea that your teacher ruled the roost and God help anyone who thought otherwise! I also firmly agree with the person who penned the thought that schooldays are the happiest days of your life.....I guess he was right. Even though I fought nail and claw to "take a sicky" most Monday mornings!
Finally, do you recall just how LONG weekends were? Didn't they stretch for ever? And as for the summer recess.......
If this brief account of my early childhood has helped stir some memories of your own, I'm delighted. It was not meant as a blow-by-blow account (and it certainly has huge chunks missing) but rather an excersise in looking back as far as you're able and seeing just how vivid those pictures in your mind really are. Your memory is a muscle. Use it well.
